ueen of Night they were
shooting far away over the tranquil sea.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

WEATHERING A STORM IN THE OPEN SEA.

In profound silence they continued to paddle until there was no chance
of their being seen by the party on the islet. Then Van der Kemp rested
his paddle in front of him and looked slowly round the horizon and up at
the sky as if studying the weather.

Nigel longed to ask him more about the men they had seen, and of this
"enemy" whom he had mentioned, but there was that in the hermit's grave
look which forbade questioning, and indeed Nigel now knew from
experience that it would be useless to press him to speak on any subject
in regard to which he chose to be reticent.

"I don't like the look of the sky," he said at last. "We are going to
have a squall, I fear."

"Had we not better run for the nearest land?" said Nigel, who, although
not yet experienced in the signs of the weather in those equatorial
regions, had quite enough of knowledge to perceive that bad weather of
some sort was probably approaching.

"The nearest island is a good way off," returned the hermit, "and we
might miss it in the dark, for daylight won't help us yet awhile. No,
we will continue our course and accept what God sends."

This remark seemed to our hero to savour of unreasoning contempt of
danger, for the facing of a tropical squall in such an eggshell appeared
to him the height of folly. He ventured to reply, therefore, in a tone
of remonstrance--

"God sends us the capacity to appreciate danger, Van der Kemp, and the
power to take precautions."

"He does, Nigel--therefore I intend to use both the capacity and the
power."

There was a tone of finality in this speech which effectually sealed
Nigel's lips, and, in truth, his ever-increasing trust in the wisdom,
power, and resource of his friend indisposed him to further remark.

The night had by this time become intensely dark, for a bank of black
cloud had crept slowly over the sky and blotted out the moon. This
cloud extended itself slowly, obliterating, ere long, most of the stars
also, so that it was scarcely possible to distinguish any object more
than a yard or two in advance of them. The dead calm, however,
continued unbroken, and the few of heaven's lights which still glimmered
through the obscurity above were clearly reflected in the great black
mirror below. Only the faint gleam of Krakatoa's threatening fires was
visible on the horizon, whil